


Conspiracy of Care

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jack's in bed with flu, Sandwiches, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Jack's in bed with a nasty cold when someone breaks into his house.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 36
Kudos: 189





	Conspiracy of Care

**Author's Note:**

> As everyone is trapped inside fending off plague zombies I thought a little sick fic might be in order. Unbeta'd we die like mne!

The sharp rapping that awoke him turned out not to be coming from the inside of his pounding head but from Jack’s front door. He waited several minutes in the hope that whoever it was would simply go away and leave him in peace. They did not. If anything, the noise got louder.

The inspector considered his options. He had been in bed with a nasty head cold for several days. The station knew this and would therefore not have troubled him unless it was extremely urgent. At the very least they would have telephoned first. Neurones struggled to fire inside his muzzy head – presumably stuck in the mucus that seemed to have enveloped it. If it was someone in trouble, he was in no position to help them. His joints ached and he was shivering with fever sweat beneath his blanket.

The rapping stopped. Good. That meant he could go back to sleep. He shut his eyes and rolled into a more comfortable position. The banging on the door was then replaced by a series of small metallic clicks.

He would be lying if he said that didn’t bring a smile to his face.

Phryne entered the room moments later to find Jack sitting up in bed and blowing his nose in a much-abused handkerchief. It didn’t do much good, but he was damned if he’d let her think she’d caught him unawares.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher. I’m afraid I’m not in much of a state to entertain visitors.”

“Jack, the fact that you don’t know it’s long past noon should be explanation enough for why we’re here.”

“We?”

“I left Doctor Mac in the Hispano. I thought I’d run reconnaissance and find out whether or not she’d be needed.”

Jack fully intended to inform his partner in no uncertain terms that he did not require mollycoddling at this time. Unfortunately, his plan was interrupted by a deluge of explosive sneezes each louder than the last, leaving him red faced and grumpy.

“I’ll take that as a yes. In the meantime…” she set a basket which Jack hadn’t even noticed she was holding on the floor and pulled out a thermos, “this is from Dot. Honey, ginger and black pepper - I believe Mr Butler was responsible for adding the whiskey.”

“Thank you.” He took it, rather touched by the thought, and gave her a weak smile which she returned, a little shyly. She cared for people all the time of course, but the domesticity of this attention was not usually her style, a personal touch reserved for a precious few. The tender moment was shattered once again by a fit of sneezing and Phryne backed off in a hurry.

“Drink up, I’ll go and fetch her.” She held up a hand as he made to protest. “No arguing. You know I never listen and you’re in no fit state to fight back. If it makes you feel any better, you can complain about it all you like once you’re up and about again.”

Jack chuckled slightly and admitted defeat. She had a point, going toe to toe with Phryne Fisher was no feat for a man who had nearly passed out attempting to reach the lavatory the day before. Not that she needed to know that particular detail. He had his pride after all.

Dr McMillan entered in a blur of dapper efficiency – the blur mostly the consequence of his streaming eyes following his bout of sneezing.

“Afternoon, inspector. Hugh tells me you’ve been away from work for a few days; have you been eating at all?”

“Did he now? I feel I’m in the midst of a conspiracy.”

“Yes,” Phryne agreed dryly as she took up her default past time of snooping around looking for clues – although what she expected to find in his bedroom, he had no idea. “Appalling the way so many people seem to care about your wellbeing. No wonder you’re being such a sourpuss.”

“I had a bowl of porridge, but I couldn’t tell you when. Yesterday, I think.”

“Fluids?”

“I had some water, but I seem to have drunk it.”

There was indeed an empty water glass and pitcher next to the bed.

“Phryne, fill this up for me, would you?”

Mac handed her the jug and waited for her to leave the room before turning back to Jack.

“She’s been worried, and she’ll want to stay. You’re the patient, your choice.”

It was painfully obvious to Dr McMillan, a woman of never-ending patience when it came to her two friends and their torturous romance, that the only part of that sentence Jack had taken in was the part where Phryne was worried about him. At least he seemed happy about it.

Jack coughed, although it was more nervous punctuation than illness.

“Whatever you think is best, doctor.”

Christ he was smirking. Mac offered a silent prayer for patience to a god she had never fully trusted and decided that whatever happened next was on his head. She extracted a stethoscope from her bag and began examining Jack’s lungs for signs of congestion.

Thus, it was that at the moment that Phryne re-entered the sick room with the water jug, she was greeted with the sight of Jack Robinson’s bare chest, and the man himself watching her with eyes that were glinting as much with mischief as with fever.

A man in the grips of a nasty head cold is not an attractive prospect unless you have very specific tastes, however Phryne had been speculating for a considerable amount of time as to what lay beneath Jack’s sober suits and she was nothing if not an opportunist. She raked her eye’s pointedly over his exposed skin and set the jug down with a precise thud. She wouldn’t want him thinking that a little bare flesh could have her losing her composure.

Mac sighed pointedly and removed the stethoscope from Jack’s chest, noting without surprise that he did not bother to do up the buttons of his pyjamas. Honestly, those two would still be acting like this on their deathbeds. It could only be hoped for the sake of her sanity that they managed to fuck at least once before then.

“Your lungs are clear, that’s a good start, but you do feel a little warm.”

She extracted a thermometer, holding it up to check the mercury level so she could take his temperature. Phryne busied herself setting out a few sandwiches and some fruit on a plate. Jack thought he recognised his favourite ham and cheese with the bright yellow of Mr Butler’s famous mustard pickle. Perhaps she was right, there were worse things than having people look after him on occasion. It had been a long time since anyone had gone to this much trouble for him. Tragically, the need to keep the thermometer in his mouth prevented him from sampling either the sandwiches or Miss Williams’ honey and lemon concoction, but that turned out to be the least of his worries.

“Phryne run the inspector a bath please, not too hot. We’ll need to strip the bed. Where do you keep your clean linins?”

The look of delighted mischief on Miss Fisher’s face was one he might ordinarily have taken as a challenge, but today all he could muster was the faint hope that she didn’t insist on watching. He didn’t have the strength for that kind of repartee in his current state. He muttered instructions through his mouthful of medical equipment and Mac rummaged for and located some clean sheets in a cupboard by the bed, giving the thermometer time to do its work.

“Not too bad.” She proclaimed, assessing the silver fluid with a critical eye. “You have a mild fever, if it gets much worse you might need a stay in hospital but for now, we can look after you here. Drink up that lemon concoction and I’ll mix you up something to help you sleep.”

“And I’ll help you into the bath.” Phryne had reappeared at the door, the white gloves she had been wearing now held in one hand.

Jack choked slightly on his mouthful of hot lemon, which turned out to be quite delicious, but was well enough prepared for Phryne’s inevitable flirtation to avoid spraying it across the bed.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Miss Fisher. I can manage.”

He got up quickly in an effort to prove his point, staggering slightly as a wave of dizziness overtook him. Phryne caught him by the arm, taking his weight until he was able to right himself.

“Are you sure about that, inspector?” Her tone was playful but close up he could see the concern in her eyes. She really was worried about him. Nevertheless, he had no intention of allowing this to become the first time he stripped off in front of her. If – or as he had begun to feel more and more since the finalisation of his divorce - when such a thing ever happened, he at least wanted to manage it without sneezing all over her lingerie.

He didn’t have the energy to spar with her in his current state and instead opted to throw himself upon her mercy and hope for the best.

“Phryne, please.”

It wasn’t an articulate request, but it was heartfelt and to his surprise it worked. Her faint smile was more understanding than contrite, but she passed over the moment easily, calling Dr Mac in to assist him with the detached professionalism of a physician.

The water was warm and scented with Epsom salts and he sank back into it with relief, the heat drawing some of the ache out of his muscles and cleansing the fever sweat from his skin. When he returned to his bed, in clean pyjamas, it had been made and the plate of food Phryne had laid out for him was set on a tray on the bedside table. He munched happily on a sandwich, and despite continued bouts of sneezing he felt better than he had in days.

Dr McMillan took her leave, saying she had other patients to attend to but would return to check on him the next day. Phryne though, lingered for a moment by the door.

“Do telephone if you need anything, Jack. I don’t like to think of you all alone here feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I can’t say I’m feeling sorry at all, these are very good sandwiches. I should catch cold more often.”

She glared at him.

“I’ll telephone, but really Phryne, it’s only a cold. I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”

“Good. And Jack?”

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“The next time I run you a bath, feel free to ask me to join you.”


End file.
